It's been written in the scars on our hearts
by anniefarokh
Summary: Sherlock: "Don't worry, Mary… I have been tutoring him." John: "He did, you know. Baker Street, behind closed curtains. Mrs Hudson came in one time. I don't know how those rumours started!" This is what should have happened in that happy day.


"Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?"

The detective only shrugged.

"Dancing a waltz, John."

The doctor thought it was going to be an ordinary day when he woke up that morning: he had took his bath and breakfast (Sherlock was already – or still? – awake) and gone to work. Because of a shift, he came home earlier…

And arrived to see Sherlock spinning around like… like… Well, he didn't know what, but it was a huge surprise. Perhaps he should have known better: living with

Sherlock Holmes, the only consulting detective and the drama queen number one in the world, was always be surprised.

He took off and hung of his coat, rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and rubbed one hand against another.

"Show me."

Sherlock frozed.

"What?"

"Don't make me repeat it."

"Why do you want to learn? It has no use for you."

"I want to get married one day, Sherlock, and I don't know how to dance. What will people think of it? If I tell them that you know how to do it and still didn't teach me…"

The detective stared at him for a couple of seconds, suspiciously, before sighing and nodding.

"Fine, John. Please, take off your shoes and wait in the middle of the room."

John frowned.

"Why can't I keep my shoes?"

"You are going to smash my toes with your feet, it is better without the shoe." He looked at John's hurt face and his expression softened a little. "Don't be upset, it is always like this for the beginners."

John nodded. Sherlock walked to the media player and one waltz started to play again. Coming back, he stood in front of the soldier.

"You must understand this: the man leads the dance. If I stumble, miss the beat, smash your toes with my shoes (and women wear heels, so it will really hurt) or even fall, it will be your fault. Am I clear?

"Yes", replied John, anxious to start the lesson.

"Very good. Now, John, you're going to bow and kiss my hand."

"No way!", muttered John, searching for any jokes in Sherlock's expressions.

There was none.

"We are going to do this old fashion, John, a complete lesson."

The soldier lifted an eyebrown.

"And I will get a kiss when we've finished?"

"If you behave like a gentleman, yes."

That surely thrilled the doctor! What? Was Sherlock really agreeing to kiss him if he was a good learner?

The detective has waited until John bowed and kissed his hand.

"You should try to be more delicate next time. Take the hand like it is a porcelain, so fragile it could break just by staring at it." He took John's hand and showed how he should do it. "About the kiss: low your head and wait for a few seconds before brushing your lips against it."

John's blood boiled up when he felt Sherlock's mouth against his hand. Christ! What was wrong with him?

"We shall go further. Wrap one arm around my waist and grab the hand you've kissed with your another hand. No! No! No! I am not a fellow from the army, John, for God's sake! I am the lady, treat me like a queen, hum?"

It was a bit difficult to John, because Sherlock was tall and handsome and his mind couldn't stop thinking about he and Sherlock spinning around in a ball…

"More delicacy, John."

"I am a bloody soldier and a doctor, Sherlock! I can't be more delicate."

"Yes, you can and you shall. Try to be kind, like you do with your patients and people in general."

After eleven tries, John has finally made the right embrace.

"Exactly like that, John. Now, the dancing. Try to make a gentle, but firm grip around my waist. Yes, yes. Move your right foot – not this way! You are not a robot! With grace and lightness.

It was getting harder to John focus. Sherlock was really close and the warmth of his body was making John feel strange knots inside his chest.

"… Then the left one. Yes, that is correct. Try to open your legs a little more… Too much, too much. Try again… Perfect!" Sherlock smiled with pride. "You are a really good learner. Shall we do the kiss part?"

John's heart was bumping furiously and he could feel it in his throat every time he swallowed. Sherlock was kidding, right?

"With a resolute, but delicate grip, recline my upper body around my hip. No, you are doing it around my waist; both of us are going to lose equilibrium and fall. Try again."

John did it and he finally had Sherlock reclined, the perfect position for a kiss. God, he was dying for it!

"Take your prize, John. You've deserved it."

The soldier leaned closer, hypnotized for the vision of Sherlock's face and lips: so close, only for him…

"Boys! What are you doing?"

The blonde drifted quickly, blushing furiously.

"I was teaching dance to John, Mrs. Hudson", replied Sherlock with a normal tone.

* * *

Four years later, John was dancing with someone else at his own wedding: Mary, his beloved wife.

John has made sure to do everything right:

- He bowed and kissed Mary's hand with the right delicacy;

- He wrapped an arm around her waist with the proper pressure;

- They spinned with grace and he leaned forward with charm, gaining his worthy kiss.

It was perfect and, yet, not a pleasure as it should be.

When he saw his best friend leaving his wedding party, John finally realized why.

It wasn't _Sherlock_ in his arms and would never be anymore.


End file.
